Possessed
by CanaanAlshea
Summary: Sometimes, He Just Woke Up Like This, In Strange Places With No Memories. But, A Stranger Had Never Helped Him Before...


**Title: Possessed**  
**Author: CanaanAlshea**  
**Summary: Sometimes, He Just Woke Up Like This, In Strange Places With No Memories. But, A Stranger Had Never Helped Him Before...**

CHAPTER ONE  
White. I always woke up to a blinding light in my eyes, a dull throb in my forehead. Slowly, I opened my eyes, licking my chapped lips. Blood before me, dried and chipping against the black and white linoleum. 'What happened?' I looked around. No windows. I had no idea where I was, what day it was, what time it was...

I floated in empty space.

I slowed my breathing, trying to listen, listen for anything that could tell me where I was. How many days had passed this time? What city was I in?

...What had Mariku done with my body? Pills in my pockets. He'd been high again. Explained the dizziness. Numbly, I opened the door a crack. There was nothing familiar, nothing to be seen but streetlights and a long, empty sidewalk through the cracked window. There was no one in the dark. I swallowed dryly, realizing I was in a filthy bathroom in some unknown town. I had no idea how long I'd been there, who I'd been with or whether or not Mariku had hurt them. 'I hate him...' Using the wall, I pulled myself upward, cringing at the ache in my ribs. I was wearing baggy jeans, a t-shirt that slid off my shoulders. They weren't mine, they weren't new. ...Someone had given me clothes. Which meant mine had been removed at some point.

Fuck.

'Poor little Malik...' He mocked in the back of my mind. 'Shut up. Where am I?' He laughed, and went silent. I was sick of silence. I leaned against the building, listening to the hum of the dying streetlight above my head. I hurt, I was hungry. He always forget to feed my body. Food. I needed food and water and to sit down and just detox for a while. How many pills had he taken? ...*what* had he taken...? There was a baggy of pills in my pocket, and a pack of cigarettes. Nothing else. No hints as to where I'd been...damn it.

I tried to sink into myself, wrapping my arms around my torso, counting my ribs. I'd lost weight. I sighed, began walking down the sidewalk in hopes of finding something, anything. I needed to get home. My throat began to tighten and I covered my mouth with shaking hands.

What happened?!

'Stupid boy' the laughter in my head again 'You should have stayed sleeping...'

I puked all over the sidewalk, a burning mixture of booze and pills. I spat bitter saliva, lit a cigarette, coughing and trying to read the signs. I'd never quite gotten the hang of the more common japanese symbols; I could read the basics. I never thought it would be useful, always thought we would all go back to Egypt someday. Another example of my stupidity. I looked down at the blue t-shirt, faded blue jeans with a rip in the knee. Messy, not my style at all, but it was better than being naked. In a moment of panic, I gasped, checked my neck, my ears. All my jewelry was still there. It held monetary value, solid gold. But for me, it was nostalgic, habit. I felt naked without it. Bruises littered my arms, dark and shaped like fingers. I looked up at the sound of a voice, a younger man talking on the phone. I coughed, spat out the remaining taste of puke.

"Excuse me?" He paused, looked me up and down and smiled softly, nervously looking me up and down, "What can I do for you?" I shivered, wrapped my arm around my torso and tried to be casual, "This is going to sound completely stupid, but I think someone is playing a joke on me. Can you tell me what city this is, and what day it is, if it's not too much trouble?" I smiled, biting my lower lip flirtatiously. He relaxed a bit, "Sure kid. You're in Tankakou (1), and it's January 8th, about..." he checked his watch, "4:26am." I smiled, nodded, "Thank you very much." I started to walk away. "Hey, blondie!" I turned around, carefully, completely aware of my vulnerable appearance. I had no idea where Mariku had put my dagger either. The man looked at his car, then back at me. He opened the back door, pulled out a long brown coat.

"Here," he tossed it at me, careful not to come too close, "I don't know what happened to you, but it's eight degrees outside. Much too cold to be wandering around stoned, without a coat." I smiled, "Thank you. Gods bless." I ran before he could ask anymore questions. Before he could memorize my face. ...Before Mariku decided he needed to die too.

I turned down a street and ducked into a doorway, slipping the coat on shakily, frozen to the bone and close to panic. January 8th...nine days. I had been gone for nine days while Mariku ran around doing god knew what with my body, taking me hours away from my home. My cell phone was gone. I had no money. I was starving, hungover, terrified. Trembling, I lit another cigarette, looking to my left and right before letting myself relax a little and sit on the stoop of the silent apartments. Everyone was asleep, or it had been abandoned. Either way, no one bothered me. I half wondered if my siblings were worried about me, but tried not to think about it just the same; I had hurt them so much...they were probably relieved to have some peace and quiet. I was moody in my teens, but once I hit twenty two this year I tried to make it up to them. But they still tiptoed around me, refused to smile, stared at me a second too long. Tradition kept them from kicking me onto the streets.

But that didn't mean they had to love me, or even like me for that matter.

I waited a few more minutes for Mariku to speak. But he didn't. He'd probably gone to whatever corner of my mind he dwelled in, sleeping. Did he sleep? What did I do when he took my body? As far as I know, I just...disappeared. I never had any memories from his wanderings. Maybe it was better that way. I sighed, crushing my cigarette on the sole of my shoe and chucking it into the street, pressing the heels of my palms to my eyes and trying to plan my next move. It was too early for public transit, or too late, depending on how you thought about it. I didn't know if Mariku had taken my motorcycle here, I hadn't seen it. Had he walked, hitched a ride, stolen a vehicle? Was I wanted back home? The thought made me sick.

I really did try to be a good person.

"Hey."

A gruff voice from behind me pulled me from my panicked thoughts. I stood up immediately, backing down the steps to see an irritated looking white-haired man in the doorway. "What are you doing on my stairs?" I swallowed, "I'm...I'm sorry. I got a little lost...I'm sorry." I was afraid. Not of him, but just because Mariku had happened to drop my body off in the seedier area of the city. People here traded drugs like cards on the sidewalk. I had yet to see a policeman. People here boarded their windows up. Dangerous didn't begin to describe my situation.

The white haired man snorted, "Stop saying you're sorry. That doesn't answer my fucking question." I took a deep breath, tried not to appear as terrified as I felt, "I'm-" I stopped my apology, "I was on the stairs because I was resting. I somehow got myself into an unfamiliar area, and I was using your porch to gain my bearings, have a smoke. I'll leave." I shrugged the jacket, which was far too big, back onto my shoulders, aware that the man's eyes were tracing the ball of my shoulder, the gold band on my bicep. His hair was white, sticking up at odd angles. And his eyes were cold, a very unique shade of brown, almost copper. He snorted, "You don't need to leave. I've never seen you around before. ...You lost bad or something?" I cocked my head and he smiled, though not happily, "This isn't a very nice town. Someone like you, I would have noticed." Either it was a compliment, or a racial comment. I didn't want to ask if he was racist against the middle eastern, although it was not uncommon. "I..." I sighed, exhausted and not wanting to have to remember my lies, "I have a...condition. Sometimes I wake up in strange places. I know which city I'm in but it's a long way from home." He stared. I chewed my nails, aware of the scratches on my knuckles, more than likely from someone's teeth. The man sighed, resting his forehead against his doorway, "Come inside. I don't want someone looking like you wandering around out here. You'll either get mugged or sold off into some freaky sex ring." He snapped his head in the direction of his house and stepped away from the door. "I...don't think it's a good idea." 'Marik might come out again...'

The white haired man rolled his eyes, "I'm trying to do you a favor, kid. You don't look any older than seventeen. And if you're too proud to accept, consider it doing *me* a favor by helping me not worry about some pretty-eyed boy wandering around the ghettos at night, alright?" I sighed, shaking and stepped into the house.

He flipped on the lights after he locked the door, and I looked at him closer while I untied my shoes. He was wearing grey pajama pants, a white shirt with a cross on it. "Name's Bakura," he said, a little softer than he had originally spoken to me. He stuck his hand out and I took it, shaking it quickly before letting go. "Malik Ishtar," I replied, instantly kicking myself for revealing my real name. He didn't seem to mind. "You want some coffee?" he called as he walked quickly down a narrow hallway, "I've got a huge coffee pot with no one to partake with me." "That would be nice, thank you," I said softly, hugging the strangers jacket closer to me. I was still freezing; my body wouldn't stop shivering. What was Mariku doing, wandering around without a coat on? Didn't he get cold? Did he feel anything?

Bakura came back a moment later with two large mugs and indicated that I should sit on the sofa. I did so, taking the cup he held out to me and letting it bring warmth into my fingers. I looked at his bookshelf. He looked at me. "So, Malik Ishtar," he sipped his coffee and smiled, just slightly, "What is this condition you mentioned? The one that makes you wake up in strange places?" I bit my lip, took several sips of coffee to bide time. I looked at his bookshelf, the books he read. He had dark artwork on the walls. ...What was the worst that could happen? If he tried to hurt me, I would just run. If he kicked me out, I wouldn't be any worse off than I was fifteen minutes ago.

I sighed, "I have dissociative identity disorder." I looked down at the floor. "Huh," he grunted, "Don't hear that too often. Pretty rare isn't it?" I nodded, biting my lip again, expecting him to call me a liar, telling me to leave now because I was causing unnecessary trouble. "Used to be called Multiple Personalities?" I nodded again, trying to speak through the lump in my throat, "Yes. They stopped using that term in the nineties though. I guess some people found it to be a little too Jeckyll and Hyde." Bakura grinned, "I can see that."

The clock ticked loudly.

I cleared my throat, "I'm...a little nervous," I said softly, "Do you mind if I..." I indicated to the half-full ashtray on the coffee table and he waved a hand, "Go right on ahead. There's no smoking rules in this place." "Thank you," I pulled a cigarette from the pack, offered him one; it was nearly full. He accepted and lit mine for me with a match. I exhaled and bit my lip again, pondering what my next step should be. Should I try to call my sister? Did she hate me? Flashes of memories came back, splitting my head. Angry voices, Odion guarding my sister from the other me, shouting at me to get out.

Breaking glass. I had hurt her...

"This other personality," Bakura murmured, "He got a name?" I swallowed a hot sip of coffee, nodding slightly, "Mariku. He...kind of named himself, I guess."

"Does your family know?"

I ducked my head, ashamed. Should I tell him?

"...He hurt them..." I murmured, "He does it often. Mariku...doesn't care for them." Blood on the glass. "They're afraid. For good reason, I suppose." Four seconds went by on the clock. Bakura shrugged, drained his coffee and set the mug softly on a coaster. I put my cigarette out and rested my head on the chair. I was tired. So tired. "Wanna crash here?" I looked up, surprised. Why was he offering me that? He didn't know me. I could be dangerous. Hell, for all I knew, I was dangerous. Or, he was, anyway. Was he playing a joke on me? Did he want me to go to sleep so he could call the police, the mental hospital, send me away? "It's cool if you don't want to, I am a stranger after all," he shrugged nonchalantly, "I just don't want you sleeping in some alley way and you don't really look like you can afford a bus ticket, much less a motel room. ...No offense." I gave him a little half smile, "You're correct in your assumption. Sleep would be...nice. Thank you." He stood up, stretching, "Alright then, that's settled. Follow me."

He led me down a short hallway and opened a door at the end of it. Inside was a surprisingly large room, with dark red carpet and peach walls. There was a large bed with matching red blankets, a large pillow. I was wary of him but...it beat sleeping on a park bench. Again. "My room's just down the hall," he jabbed a finger over his shoulder, "Though, just to warn you, I do sleep with a knife so don't startle me awake or try any funny shit." I shook my head fiercly, "Oh no, I wouldn't-" "I was kidding," he grinned, showing off one sharp canine, "Maybe. Anyway, make yourself at home. I'll wake you up in the afternoon and we can try to figure out where you'll go from there. You look like you could use the sleep." Sleep...how long had Mariku deprived my body of it? I became aware of how tired I really was. "Yes sir." Bakura snorted, "Don't call me sir, I'm not that much older than you. Bakura will be fine. Anyway," he patted my shoulder and started down the hall, grinning over his shoulder at me, "Sleep well, Malik Ishtar." "Sleep well..." He smiled as he shut his door. The lock clicked. "Bakura...huh." Carefully, I entered the room he'd offered me, trying not to touch anything, mess it up in any way. I needed a long shower. I don't know how often my other half took them, but I myself hadn't taken one.

I fell asleep when my head hit the pillow, my hair still wet, but feeling safe beneath the stranger's sheets.

I had no dreams.

1: I totally made that up.

**CHAPTER TWO**  
I woke up just in time to make it to the bathroom, running the sink water to drown out the sounds of my vomiting. The coffee and pills burned like hell coming back up, scratching my throat and nose. Toilet water splashed my face and I flushed to cover up the sounds of my wretching. I flushed it away, resting my head against cold porcelain, panting and shivering. My stomach rolled and pain stabbed me at random intervals. My stomach was rejecting whatever my other half had put into it, and for the thousandth time, I cursed him. I hated myself for needing him to survive the memories of my childhood.

My father was a very angry drunk. Bruises covered me constantly, my siblings having already left the home. He threw things, spit on me and called my filthy names, hating me, I think, for looking so much like my mother. For killing my mother; she'd died giving birth to me. I don't think Ishizu or Odion ever forgave me either. They never spoke of it. Father hit me all the time, with his fists and belts and parts of broken furniture. Disgustingly, part of me understood his anger. Most of me thought I deserved it. Hell, maybe I did. Maybe I was paying for something I couldn't remember doing. I would never know. Without Mariku...I believe I would have killed myself before I turned thirteen.

I sighed, standing on shaking legs and looking at myself in the mirror. I didn't look as bad as I felt, at least. A few bruises on my face, a cut here and there on my arms and torso...it had been worse before. I considered myself lucky.

Bakura was in the hallway when I opened my bedroom door, looking at me curiously, "You...alright there, Malik?" I tried to smile, nodded, "Yes, I'm sorry. Mariku, he must have had too much to drink last night." He smirked, "Yeah, I know that one. Hangovers are a bitch." He gestured me to follow him once again into the den and he sat at a computer. I lingered at the doorway, feeling awkward and guilty for taking up a room in his home. He looked over his shoulder at me, quirked an eyebrow, "You're a quiet kid aren't you? Go on, have a seat, i don't bite." He mumbled something that sounded like 'often' and I sat down on the sofa by the computer, looking at his bookshelves. He had so many books.

"Is there...somewhere I can go?" I asked softly, biting my thumbnail, "I mean, a homeless shelter, something in this city? I can't really afford an apartment. If not I'm sure I can find a bus schedule to the next town over and-" Bakura waved a hand at me, "Now don't you worry about that for now, blondie," I laughed a little at the nickname, "I told you, we'll figure this out. Until then, you're welcome to stay here, so long as you don't make a mess of my house or try to rob me and we'll do just fine." I blinked, not sure if I heard him correctly, "Are you...offering me you're home, knowing there is no way I can pay rent? Don't you think it's a little reckless to take a crazy homeless kid in so quickly?" Bakura just shrugged, "Probably. But I consider myself a pretty good judge of character, and you don't seem too bad. That other half though, I'm sure I'll meet him soon enough, yeah?" I offered my own half-shrug in response, "He...doesn't really have a schedule. He mostly comes out when I'm angry, from what I can tell..." "Okay," he pretended to make a note on a notepad on the desk, "No...pissing off...Ishtar. Gotcha. Anything else?" I chuckled despite my nerves. I enjoyed his sarcasm.

"Hey while you're over there you wanna hand me my address book off the shelf?"

Oh no...

I looked at the books, the scribbled characters I still couldn't decipher no matter how long I stared.

"Hello? Earth to Malik?" I looked down at my hands, mumbled my pathetic excuse.

"Huh? I can't hear you."

"I said..." I sighed, "I'm illiterate. I can't read Japanese." He stared. Red eyes. "I'm not a complete idiot," I said quickly, holding up my hand, "I can read and speak Hebrew, I can read hieroglyphs, and I speak Japanese proficiently...I just never learned to, well, read it. Which is why I was so confused last night." He said nothing. "I'm sorry," I sighed, "That sounds ridiculous. My family was very traditional, assumed we wouldn't stay here very long so none of us bothered to learn it."

"Well that sucks," he sighed, "No wonder you looked like a kicked puppy last night..." he shook his head, walking toward the bookshelf and grabbing what I assumed he had asked me for. "So," he said, flipping pages, "You're telling me your family only reads Hebrew? Jeez, how do they live?" He laughed quietly and I shrugged half-heartedly, "They had everything translated through the computer, and my siblings worked at an Egyptian museum. I guess they never needed it, so they never bothered to learn it. I never really gave it much thought until last night." Bakura chuckled, "Guess that makes sense. Why learn it if you never think about it, right? Myself, I'm from England," he shut the book and sat at his chair, turning it to face me and leaned back with his hands locked behind his head, "My dad moved me down here when I was thirteen. It took me a long ass time to learn the language. I don't care what people say, English is nowhere near as difficult as Japanese." I smiled, "I didn't know you were from out of the country. Why did you move here?" He shut the book, typed something, "My dad was an archeologist. Made alot of money at some museum about thirty miles away from here. We haven't spoken in about five years. No arguments or anything, just kind of...lost contact." I looked out the window, saddened by his confession; how does family just lose contact? Is that how it would be with my sister, my brother? Would someone ask about me, and they'd shrug; "Haven't heard from him in a few years now." The realization hit me like a punch to the gut.

I tried not to think about them. It hurt too much.

A few more minutes of quiet went by, with him scrolling through pages on the computer, checking the phone book and humming to himself. "Hey," he said suddenly, "Can you cook?" I smiled, "Yes, quite well. I often cooked for my siblings for when they came home from work." He grinned, tossing a sweater at me, "Awesome. I know how you can pay rent."

"The...market?" He nodded, unlocking his seat belt while I stared at the store. Bakura drove a black car with red leather seats; it suited him, although I wondered if it was a safe car... "Look," he sighed, sitting sideways to face me and casually resting his elbow on the steering wheel, "I'll be straight with you. You were paranoid about paying rent, and I burn spaghetti so I eat take out more often then not. I buy the groceries, you cook dinners. Deal?" He stuck a pale hand out and I couldn't help but grin. I shook his hand, "Deal."

"So, Malik," he sighed, pushing the cart while I trailed next to him, hands in my, well his, coat pockets, "Let's make this shopping thing simple; is there any food you absolutely will not eat?" "Meat," I said instantly; my religion didn't allow it and quite honestly, not growing up eating it, I never quite found the desire to do so. He paused, staring down at me, being a head taller, "You're shitting me." I shook my head dumbly and he sighed dramatically, "Fine. You go down the," he gave a mock shudder, "Produce aisle, and pick out whatever the heck hebrews eat. Vegetables, dirt, I won't judge. I," he gestured to the butchers block, "Will be over there, picking out some nice cuts of cow. We meet at the book section in twenty minutes. Sound good?" I chuckled, shook my head, "Sure, Bakura. Book aisle." "Alright, we understand eachother then. Go on. Fend!" With that, he sped past me, muttering about me not getting enough protein and being too skinny.

I was already looking at magazines when he caught up, the childrens section of the cart packed full of cuts of meat. He shrugged at my wide-eyed stare, "Man's gotta eat." I myself held a basket of assorted fruits, vegetables, and breads, hoping it wouldn't be too expensive. "Um...I...wasn't sure-" He waved me off when I held out my items for his approval, "Trust me, I can afford it."

The man had no qualms about sliding the card. I was embarrassed, even though he had told me multiple times that it was fine and forbade me from putting any of my items back. Once we got in the car, he asked about clothes. "You clearly haven't got anything other than what you've got on," he glanced at me as he made a very illegal right turn, not bothering to put his blinker on and turning the radio to some generic metal song, "So we're going to the local mall. And before you say anything," he gave me a mock glare, "Yes I can afford it, yes I'm sure, and no you cannot pay me back other than what we've already discussed. I won't have you wearing and washing the same clothes every day. What will the neighbors think?" He smirked, "I'll tell you, they'll think I'm a crazy shut-in who took in a street kid. And they'll be right! And I simply won't have those assholes be right about anything concerning me. I like to keep them guessing." He laughed and the tires squealed as he swerved around another car, flipping off the honking drivers. I laughed again, and found I liked his fuck-you attitude, the cigarette that dangled from his mouth.

"I'm afraid I'm not very good at this," I warned him as we stood on the escalator, tapping my fingers against the side bar and trying to ignore the people staring; whether at his white hair or my dark skin, I didn't know. One way or the other, we had multiple pairs of eyes on us all the way up the two flights. "How can you not be good at picking out clothes?" he snorted. I shrugged, stepping onto solid ground and ducking around a running child to catch up with him, "Well, I just never really had a use for it. I wore a lot of hand me downs and really when we went clothes shopping it was an in and out kind of thing. My siblings aren't big on crowds." "Bah," he tossed his bangs out of his face, glared at a girl staring at us, "We'll make it simple then. Find what you like, find what fits you, and we'll get the hell out of here before you have a panic attack," he flipped off the girl, "Or I kill someone. Whichever comes first." I snorted back, smiled and shook my head, "Alright. ...Wanna help me?" He gave a small sigh, scratching his cheek in a mock irritated fashion, "Help you what, pick out clothes or kill someone?" I gave him an exasperated look and he sighed again, heavier and with a wink, "Fine. I'll dress you up. Hell, maybe I'll have fun with this." I blinked as he stalked off into a small but very dark looking store; what in gods name had I gotten myself into?

"Christ, what do you wear, a size zero in girls clothes?" I came out of the dressing room holding the side of the jeans he'd picked out to one side to keep them from falling off my hips. "I don't know," I whispered back, feeling myself blush but hoping it didn't show through my darker skin, "I told you, I've never done this before!" He mumbled something with the words 'fucking skinny' and pushed hangers aside, holding something up to study them before tossing them to me. "Here," I looked at the black jeans, "Try them. We'll get a belt while we're at it because I feel like it will be impossible to find you anything." I just shrugged sheepishly, pushing the curtain aside and looking at myself in the mirror. It was ridiculous really. He was right though...I did wear a size zero.

"Eh, Malik," Bakura said through the curtain, "I'm going to go get some more pants, same size. Black right?" "Please," I said, peeking through the curtain to see him scanning labels. He smiled at me and I smiled back, still in shock at my ridiculous situation.

As I looked at myself in the mirror, I felt a chill at the base of my skull...felt the floor vanish beneath me. A horrible and familiar feeling of him trying to take over. 'No...not now...' It felt like he slapped me, even though I knew physical contact wasn't possible. He wanted *out* and I didn't have much time. I put on my old pants and grabbed Bakura at the check out stand, trembling, "We have to go," I whispered. "What? But we haven't even-" "Now!" I snarled, squeezing my eye shut and gripping his wrist harder than I meant to. "That...thing I told you about? It's happening. I don't like to be in public when it does, okay?" He blinked, most likely confused at my sudden harsh tone. But it wasn't completely mine. Mariku's anger was coursing through me. He wanted blood. He nodded, grabbing the bags and following me out the door, for once struggling to keep up with my pace. I pushed through the crowd of people and ran to the side of the tall building, leaning against it, sweating and trembling.

'I want out, Malik' it said 'I want out *now*.' I bit my lip. The last thing I saw was Bakura as he grabbed me and shoved me into his car.

I woke up in what had become 'my room'. I was tucked into the bed and there was a note by my lamp.

"I'll be in the office when you come to.  
-Bakura."

I sighed, rubbing my eyes and checking the date on the calender. Two days this time...but at least I was in the same place. I looked down and blushed to find myself completely naked, wrapped in a large towel. Either Mariku had taken a shower or... I blushed and pushed the thought out of my head. The clothes Bakura had purchased were already hung up in my closet. I pulled on black pants and a simple white button up shirt, combing my hair with my fingers as I made my way down the now-more-familiar hallway.

"...'Kura?" I tapped lightly on the door. "Come in," came the muffled voice and I did so, finding him sitting in the armchair and taking notes out of a very thin book. "Finally awake?" He smiled up at me. I couldn't smile back. I was terrified.

"Don't worry, blondie," he sighed, setting the book on his desk and crossing his legs, "I met this other half of yours. Calls himself Mariku," he gave me a smirk as I sat down, "He wasn't nearly as polite as you, but not bad. Not a great personality but...not bad." I couldn't breathe. Had my other half actually *met* Bakura, actually stayed at his house? I crossed my legs and rested my elbow on my knee, rubbing my temples and trying to absorb all this information. Not good not good...

"So," he sighed, closing the book and resting his hands on it, "Last thing you remember?" I looked past him for a moment, thinking hard, "Getting into the car..." I said softly, "You pushed me into the car and locked the doors. That's it. After that, I woke up in bed." Had he actually been in the car with Mariku? He didn't seem angry with me. "What time is it, Bakura?" "8:32," he said without pause.

"Mariku," I said softly, playing idly with a pen on his desk, "How was he? Toward you, I mean." My white-haired roommate shrugged with one shoulder, setting his book on the desk and resting his elbow on it casually, "Alright I guess. More talkative than you. He sure as hell asked more questions. He seemed amused that you were staying here," he smiled, "I can tell the difference between you two, you know." I could feel my eyes widen. Was that...good? "Oh yeah," he continued with a chuckle, "This other half, Mariku, he talks more, like I said, and with a much deeper tone. He's got a bit of an accent. Never stops moving either. He must have paced the entire span of my house a dozen times, touching everything and looking around...he seems more confused than dangerous, though I tell you one thing I sure as hell wouldn't give that guy a gun."

I sat back slowly, letting this information sink in. He had met my other half. He didn't hate him. It was...startling, to say the least.

"Malik," he said, leaning forward and making sure I looked into his eyes, "Don't worry about it. If I hated you, either of you, I wouldn't let you stay. So just breathe, okay? I don't need you passing out on my floor." I laughed a little, a little confused and mostly relieved. "If you want," Bakura offered softly, flicking a lock of hair out of my eyes, "And if he wants, I could record him. Let you hear that you two *are* different." The idea was terrifying and intriguing. After a moment's consideration, I agreed.

"Do we..." I laughed, aware of how stupid the question, "Do we look different?" Bakura laughed too, just a little, and gestured me over to the couch. We sat with eachother for a minute before he spoke. "You guys...the two of you are different people in one body. Different memories, personalities, skills," he shrugged, "But on the outside, you're the same. You look *exactly* the same."

Somehow, i was disappointed. I was hoping Mariku would be a monster. To hear he looked just like me...it made me sick.

We sat together quietly. We asked each other casual questions. Bakura seemed just fine sitting next to a crazy person. I squeezed his hand a little tighter, just trying to breathe. What else could I do?


End file.
